The Gamer - short stories
by yairm210
Summary: The Gamer gives the best framework for any and all crossovers, game concepts, and anything I want to write, ever. The situation just needs to be taken to its logical conclusion...
1. Setup

Spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be. Heavily inspired by _Maoyū Maō Yūsha._

* * *

It was bound to happen somehow. Human technology was evolving at such a rate that nothing else could have any hope of keeping up. Humanity's strength was always in numbers, and now, with the whole world interconnected, no society could stay secret for long.

Once mobile phones with built-in cameras became widespread, the end was nigh. Not a day went by without a media cover-up in every country, and eventually one of the dictators had had enough, and ordered a census of all supernatural abilities in his country. Since there were several different secret branches of the government working in parallel, the census began by putting all known faction representatives in one room, together with all third-party contacts that could be found.

As it turned out, one room was hardly enough.

The results of the meeting were staggering. Over a hundred major underground factions, dozens of different underground societies, all living a double life. Only one in every three people in the country was actually powerless, and only those who forcefully distanced themselves were not part of some organization. Almost the entire population of the country was living a double life as 'regular' humans, and for naught – after several thousand years of ability users and humans coexisting, natural selection had won out. The 'regular' humans had gone extinct decades ago, or had merged with existing factions.

This meeting became known as the Grand Reveal, and was a milestone for ability-users worldwide. It was immediately understood by all those who took part in the census that the consequences of the revelation of such powerful abilities could either lead to unrivalled prosperity or to civil war of unimaginable proportions. Within days, official diplomatic meeting between the heads of the various factions had taken place, plans for melding the various types of law enforcement units into a single cohesive structure were being furiously debated, the commercial plans of the country were completely halted and restarted based on the technological and non-technological advances from each of the factions – all at breakneck speed, with the constant threat of total factional war looming above everyone's heads. Scientific minds convened, university studies ground to a halt as students realized that everything they were learning would be out of date by the end of the week, the wiser ones among them cackling with glee as they typed out theses on teleportation-based urban planning, meldable heap structures in elemental magic and the unique genetic structure of dragon pearls. Warriors stood guard at their bases, tense with anticipation and fear of the unknown. Assassins invaded headquarters to steal relics of power, occasionally successfully, mostly never to return. Clans too short-sighted to see the big picture took advantage of the confusion and attacked, only to be annihilated by alliances formed solely to prevent full-scale war from erupting.

The news spread as fast as thumbs could type it. Virtually every country in the world underwent a metamorphosis, many taking inspiration from the original country in reorganizing their political and governmental structures. Within a few years, magic and internal energy classes were introduced to the school curriculums, technology and magic were complementing each other, and many mysteries previously thought unsolvable had been brought to light. However, under the surface, the inter-faction hatred still loomed. Political manoeuvring peaked in complexity, a few major figures died peacefully in their sleep from completely natural causes, and items which had been held in safekeeping for centuries kept mysteriously falling from the backs of lorries.

And many mysteries still remained unsolved. Many powers seemed to defy all logic, but one stood above all other in terms of head-scratchingly blatant disregard for all physical laws and common sense. Not only was it ridiculously overpowered, it appeared to be contagious – areas affected by the carrier continued to exhibit abnormal behaviour, and people connected to the carrier could utilize parts of the unique ability themselves.

After multiple kidnapping attempts, 24-hour surveillance and far too many people begging for apprenticeship, The Gamer, Han Jee-Han, created an entrance to a dungeon, entered it and has not been seen since.

Gang wars were fought over the entrance to the Dungeon, but seeing as so far as anyone can tell the dungeon appears to be endless, it was eventually declared a public space, and the security – at least around the entrance floors – is as high as it gets.

Even today, the Dungeon is the primary source of all magical artefacts and specimens across all dimensions, and legends have been cropping up of an orb of Power situated within it, and of various Runes that must be obtained to attempt to reach it.

However, one thing is certain – the progenitor of the dungeon, Han Jee-Han, is somewhere in there, presumably with a number of his friends, and within him the power to change the world – again – forever.


	2. The Farmer

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome.

* * *

The Farmer

"Comin' through, comin' through, 'scuz me!"

A well-built man, carrying a large pack, walked through the streets of the second level. Since the Dungeon was a worldwide attraction, the first level had been sequestered for teleportation zones only. Anyone attempting to sell anything there would be dealt with by the management, and by "management" they meant "the large people with the painful weapons who are there to ensure you don't do anything you're not supposed to". The second level had been gradually cleared out, expanded, repaved and turned into a large trade market, mostly dealing with Dungeon-specific items, but everyone needed to eat. And as it was inexplicably said, "food doesn't grow on trees", and so approximately a quarter of the level was devoted to restaurants and various food stalls.

It really was an odd assortment of stalls – from the most basic to the most bizarre, every type of food sentients could need could be found there. Some of the rarer goods, such as human flesh and minotaur steak, had extremely strict purchasing and smuggling laws, but as long as it was legal – it would be there.

Transportation was a problem, though. With the thousands of people that visited the market each day and the lack of clear boundary between day and night, the place was constantly flocked. Coupled with the narrow staircases between levels and the area-wide anti-teleportation field that hung over the second level to prevent aforementioned smuggling, all items needed to be carried down to the second level by hand, or at least by some contraption that could descend stairs. Dealers in heavier goods had petitioned to allow for a conveyor belt to be built alongside the staircase, but the logistics of such a construction were complicated, seeing as magic – or whatever ran the dungeon – seemed to protect the passageways, and nothing seemed to be able to even scratch the stairways.

This made no difference whatsoever to the Farmer, who was no stranger to heavy loads, and he trudged through the second level with the absentminded look of a man going about his daily routine, preoccupied with other matters. When he reached a shop bearing a large wooden sign with Dungeon Meshi carved elegantly into it, he entered the shop, taking the pack off his back. "Senshi, got your veggies!"

A dwarf with a large, unkempt beard came out of the kitchen, steam coming off him. "Mmm, good timin', we're jus' startin' the salads fer the day, can ye hand me the lettuce?"

Opening the pack, the Farmer carefully placed various bags of vegetables on the counter, and the dwarf took a carrot from one of the bags and held it up to his nose. "Been rainin', has it?"

The Farmer took a bag of lettuce out of his pack and threw it to the dwarf. "Not naturally, but we had some mist mages come over a couple of days ago, and they dealt with the ground pretty well. I've been meaning to ask you about this skill I got the other day, says here 'Gourmand: you gain permanent status effects from eating rare food'. It looks like my stats have shot up ridiculously as well, do you know anything about it?"

The dwarf stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into a wide smile. "I knew ye'd get it eventually! This calls for a celebration! Wait a tad, I'll fix up something good."

After about half an hour of 'waiting a tad', the dwarf emerged from the kitchen with a large plate of rice, covered with thin slices of meat in a brownish sauce. "Go on, eat yer fill!"

After he had finished the meal, two separate popups appeared.

"After eating Manticore Roast, your Gourmet skill grants you the following buffs:

Resist Poison, 20%. Total Resist Poison: 40%.

Str +2

Agi +1

Saprovore"

So that's what it's about. How come Total Resist Poison was at 20%? And what was Saprovore about? He clicked it, and a small bubble appeared: "Saprovore – your metabolism can handle anything, so long as it's meat". That was...not very informative. There were a few monsters that were undigestible, did this allow him to eat them?

The other pop-up was the standard "+5 str for 3 hours". He dismissed them, and saw the dwarf looking t him expectantly.

"What was that about?"

"It's me warm welcome to the world of gourmet! It lets ya eat foods that normal people can't even hope ta eat! Have ye checked the skill yet?"

The Farmer opened the Gourmand skill information, and the list was...comprehensive, to say the least. Warg burgers, Nirnroot pie, Noctowl wings, Zizzerzoof salad... the list went on, each with its own little bonuses, none of which was all that impressive on its own, but whoof, there were a lot.

"So you can gain stats, just from eating rare foods?"

The dwarf gave him an affronted look. "Just? I'll have ya know that manticores are an endangered species, and detoxifin' the meat takes at least a week! Ye have no idea how rare the food you eat is! It's only 'cause ye live in the Dungeon in a rural area an' eat the local produce that ya have access to half of what ye eat!"

The farmer was still browsing his list. "But this is totally wrong. How does eating a single plate of food immediately affect my metabolism? And how does drinking soup make me sensitive to magnetic waves? Just what?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Beats me. Dungeon magic, who knows how it works. But the good news is that now that ya know ya have a use for tha various body parts of monsters, they'll drop as loot!"

The Farmer opened his mouth, and then closed it. He thought for a few seconds, opened it and closed it again.

Finally he said: "So that's it? I fight a Kobold and there'll be Kobold meat lying there?"

"Aye, packaged and everythin'! An' if ya think of tha various uses beforehand, ye can get Kobold liver, Kobold tail, Kobold heart..."

"No, yuck, stop that. That is absolutely disgusting. Why would anyone want that?"

The dwarf looked at him like he asked why people eat. "Because it makes you stronger, o' course. There're skilled chefs tourin' tha dungeon in search of new ingredients all tha time, an' yours truly is a third-rank member o' tha Gourmet Guild for me breakthroughs in cookin'! An' if that doesn't suit ya, ye could be an adventurer with those skills!"

"So anyone with enough money can eat at expensive restaurants for a month and gain superpowers? Where's the massive line of adventurers to your shop, then?"

The dwarf gestured around his rather full shop, the shop assistants serving out food to the waiting customers. "Plenty do come, fer tha temp bonuses though. It's not that simple, ye need a real appreciation of food ta be a Gourmand, and it's not something we advertise freely, but yeah, ye could say that. Just like ye could say that buyin' yerself a party lets ya lake down stronger monsters. Tha's how money retains its value, after all. An' I mean real money, not the papery dungeon crap we used ta get a while back."

The dwarf leaned back. "I mean, it's not like ye have to start dungeonin' just cause ya got tha aptitude, farmin's not bad either, but it opens up some options, if ya know what I'm sayin'. An' if ye happen ta come across an' interestin' beastie, i'd be glad if ya can bring it back whole rather than have it disappear fer borin' loot. It's a matter of perspective, see, the Dungeon has its own ideas about what ya expect a monster ta drop but it's willin' ta accept yours as well, if it makes sense."

"Right. Right, it's just...this is a lot to take in, you know, I've never fought in my life, I don't think I'm suited to that kind of lifestyle. I just want to live a regular life, without dying horribly in some cave." The Farmer closed his skill list, thanked the dwarf for the food, got up from his place and took up his pack to leave.

"Same time on Wednesday, then?"

The dwarf shrugged. "It's yer life, lad, but I hope ta see ya around anyhow. Ya dinnae have to decide now, ya know."

The ex-Farmer smiled a worried smile and left the shop, unaware that his Job had switched from Farmer to Gourmand, and that a few customers watched his leave with interest...


	3. The Druid

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome.

* * *

The Druid

In the vast forests of Brazil, there lived a secluded tribe of druids, who devoted their time to studying the ways of nature and its mysteries, and connecting with the living will of the world that resides in all life. Thus it was, for hundreds of years, until the Great Reveal shook the world.

In the aftermath of the commercialization of teleportation magic, the people of earth gradually left the bustling cities in search of a place they could call their own. Thus is was that the great forests and deserts, which had known no living soul, were housed by millions of people.

Fearing their way of life was at risk, the Druids left the forests of Brazil, seeking a secluded place that they might become one there with nature. But as they searched, they despaired, and in their blind lust for seclusion closed their eyes to many viable options. For no forest on earth remained truly untainted by the presence of humans,

One among them abandoned their ranks, to seek a stronger connection to the living forces than that which had been possible in their homeland. He wandered among those factions more connected to the way of the land, to seek a place where the land was most alive.

When at last he arrived at the Dungeon, he knew that his search had ended. A place in which the world itself granted form and matter to thoughts, where even science had not permeated its inner depths! Truly, a place where Gaia revealed itself to its creations in the closest form to its true self.

At the twenty-fifth level of the dungeon, called the Garden of Terror, he found what he was looking for – a stage where he could interact with nature at his own pace, without it attempting to dismember him that much.

After barely a few minutes of meditation, however, he heard a faint 'ding!' by his ear. Opening his eyes, he saw a blue square in the air, advertising that a new skill, meditation, had been created. He ignored it and returned to his meditation.

A few minutes later, another appeared, this time telling of life sense. And another, and another, all telling him that skills he had been practising for years had been "created". Ludicrous. He had heard of the Dungeon's strange mind manipulation, but to think that it would be this distracting!

Slowly, his awareness spread over the vegetation.. Although the level was not small, he was used to much larger areas. But as the days passed, his connection with the forest progressed at unprecedented speed. Popup followed popup, each telling of his increased skill in another facet of nature. Within a week, he could control the forest. Within a month, he was the forest, from every branch of it expanding skyward to every root expanding earthwards.

What was even stranger was that the forest seemed to require no sustenance – No rain fell, and no sunlight shone. The Garden was lit by the strange, ever-present dim light that saturated the entire dungeon,which was definitely not enough to provide the forest with energy enough to explain its actions rationally. He had gone through his skill list, and all of his abilities, even those tied to plant growth, seemed to be independent of energy to grow besides his own mana, which in turn recovered more the more plants he synchronized with. It seemed to be a self-sustaining system. He put it down to ambient Dungeon magic fuelling the actual growth.

And yet again, distractions abounded, this time in the form of adventurers. Whether they ended up as fertilizer or passed through, every one of them would occupy far too much of his attention, and for no reason – all they wanted to do was to pass onwards to the next level. Why should they not?

Gradually, a path between the entrance and the exit began to clear. To the sides of the path, venomous vines were replaced with honeysuckle, carnivorous plants with hyacinths, thorn bushes with rosemary. The garden ceased to become a hazard for those passing through, and became a safe haven and recuperation area for weary adventurers.

And yet he was limited to the Garden. Tendrils were sent out to the neighbouring levels, and from there onwards – the monsters of the dungeon seemed to ignore the plants entirely, and so unfettered, missionary sprouts sought to map the entire extent of the Dungeon, each scout widening his area of perception to another area.

At level 34, something strange began to happen. Any tendril that he sent in began to wither, slowly dying as time passed. He tried multiple types of plants, and trees managed to survive for a couple of days, before they too became dry husks devoid of life.

For the first time since entering the dungeon, he started interacting with strangers, to try and figure out the cause of this strange phenomena. Unusually, he was greetef with warm welcomes, the cause of which quickly became apparent. It seemed that he had gained a new title somewhere among the endless popups that he kept dismissing, granting him Sage of the Forest. Combined with his ability to grow healing plants for the wounded, information gathering went quickly.

From what he understood, the 34th floor was filled with skeleton knights and liches, brought to life by something called Death magic. The more he thought about it, the more preposterous it seemed. What was death, if not lack of life? What would death do to non-alive things anyway? If you used death magic on a piece of plastic, or on bones, would they become deader? Or gain motion by being more dead? It was completely meaningless. You might as well say that living things were brought to life using life magic. Was every mother a life magic user, then? Was he a life magic user, because he could cause plants to grow?

*Ding!* Due to your connection with the living force and your contemplation of the cycle of life and death, you have gained access to Life Magic

*Ding!* Due to your connection with the living force and your contemplation of the cycle of life and death, you have gained access to Death Magic

…

...What.

What the hell was this? Was this some kind of joke?

His next meditation assured him that it was not. As he sat and let his conciousness spread, he was aware of far more than he was used to. He could see the overall scheme of the forest far more clearly than before, and strangest of all, he could sense the adventurers now, and those magic items of theirs which carried a life of their own.

He was impressed. As as he spread his influence beyond the garden, he found that he could sense the monsters as well, their life signatures a lot more constant than the ever-changing mess of the adventurers. Probably because they weren't 'real', as such. When they died, they left no bodies. They were animated purely by the magic of the dungeon.

Which just made the mystery of the 34th floor even more inexplicable. Those weren't bones of people, who had died and then been reanimated. Those were bones that from the beginning were bones, that were created from the start as animated skeletons! How was that Death Magic and not Life Magic?!

*Ding!*

...Great. He didn't even need to guess at the content. Apparently discovering internal inconsistencies within the system gave you levels.

*Ding!* Due to continuous critical examination of the Dungeon, a new skill was unlocked: Game Design.

Ha.

Hahaha, hahahaha what? So the dungeon itself admitted to being a game? He tried to use the skill, but apparently he was using it wrong, since it seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

He had reached the 34th floor again. But this time, he felt the parts that had wilted, as well. Even those branches that had long since died, could serve as a conduit to his soul. He expanded onwards, growing life branches out of the dead, only to have them dry again.

But he would not give up. Little by little, the dead branches spread over the floor, engulfing any skeletons in their way in an act of petty vengeance for disrupting him for so long.

The boss of this floor deserved better. Around the throne of the lich king, a massive dead tree started emerging, engulfing half the throne room in a massive trunk. And with his work here done, he proceeded to the next level.

With time, this tree became known as the Tree of Death, and from its deathly branches many a wand was carved. The Druid received the moniker of The Sage of Life and Death, and discovered many hidden secrets behind the game... but that's another story.


	4. The Assassin

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome.

The Assassin

For adventurers, the Dungeon was a dream come true – endless, respawning monsters, incredible loot, and an entire subculture that had developed around the Dungeon made it the primary gathering place for those who wished to test their mettle, learn new techniques, gear up or – alternatively – get rich quick.

For Assassins, it was a nightmare.

From the instant she got there, she suspected something was wrong – the guards on the first floor stared at her and their hands went near their weapons subtly enough to not cause panic, but noticeably enough to realize something was wrong.

And then she saw the names and titles above their heads, and turned around and saw that everybody had them, and oh shit, oh bloody bloody shit.

The first thing she did was call her client and explain to him, slowly and carefully, how much this unexpected development thoroughly screwed with her plans, that from a simple job this had become the ultimate test of stealth, and that due to misinformation she was cancelling the contract. She pointed out that new contract could be be negotiated immediately with barely any difference, just another zero tacked on to the price tag. No-one was forcing anything, and he was more than welcome to see if anyone else was willing to take the job.

As she was waiting for his client to check his other options, she sent an encoded message to the Agency, apprising them of the situation. This was big news, and although it was simple enough information, it was of such import that it would surely earn her a few points across the board.

Her client called back, and attempted to negotiate the number down, but mysteriously the number kept rising, until a disgruntled approval was reached.

Man, this would be tough. Getting through over 20 levels of Dungeon without being seen, getting the target, and getting out. This would be the job of a lifetime.

Or at least it would be, for anyone else. The key to getting a good price was to never reveal _how_ the job got done. Oh, the Agency would back up their employees' records, with testimonies from dozens of similarly fleeced clients that the jobs got done, but they would never tell anyone how. There are tricks to every job, and she wouldn't be a pro if she didn't excel at squeezing every drop of utility from the tricks she knew.

In fact, utilized properly, the hovering names could prove an asset – much less chance of getting the wrong guy, an act which smacked of carelessness.

She descended the floors as quickly as he could, avoiding all confrontations and remaining hidden, before she found him. Her target, Lwazi Mnungwa, was to be tribe leader in the event that he returned with a suitable trophy. He would not.

Irony of ironies – she found him, flanked by two guards, in the Garden of Life, recuperating. The place seemed to sense her Death magic, and plants visibly distanced themselves from her as she got close, but none of the people seemed to have taken notice of any oddity. This place was too public, though. She followed them as they descended, taking in their fighting styles and reaction times.

When they were in a relatively secluded area, and in the midst of battle, she prepared herself. This was the place. She sprung from her hiding-place and struck...only to be blocked by one of the guards. The other two caught on quickly, and a three-way battle was not something she could handle. She threw a smoke bomb, but they were unfazed, striking continuously driving her relentlessly to exhaustion.

As a desperate, last-ditch effort, she activated the life-link she had set up earlier between her and Lwazi. As she pulled the glowing voodoo doll from her pocket, everyone froze. They were no strangers to such magic – death-fuelled spells were the deadliest, especially when they came as final retribution. But they could wait. Such a link took a lot of power to maintain, and within a couple of minutes, she would probably not be able to maintain it. They could wait.

After a minute had passed, she seemed to have reached a decision. Taking her dagger in her hand, she rammed it at full force through her own neck, killing her near-instantly. As she fell to the floor, her body started to rot, and Lwazi uttered a hoarse cry – he was on his knees, corrupted magic engulfing him, and he, too, was soon devoid of all life.

There was nothing they could do to save him. Nothing they could have done. Who would take their own life to get at Lwazi? What suicidal fanatic had they been fighting? Any identifying features quickly disappeared and faded out of existence.

Within only a few minutes, Lwazi was dead, the corrupt magic having poisoned him from inside. As for the crazed assassin, only bones remained.

She saw them again, at the second floor, after a good post-completion meal. A smile widened on her lips - it was unprofessional, but she could never resist a gloat. She concentrated, changing the illusion floating above her head to read Illusionist and greeted them, offering to show them a performance they'd never forget, adding in her head "...again". Although it would be hard to produce a performance which outdid an animated skeleton with an illusion of a human. She had originally started mixing Death and Illusion magic to leave fake corpses, in order to avoid retaliatory strikes, but it doubled so well as a killing tool that she hardly ever had to resort to killing the target herself, as she did today. By the time anyone with any sense would be able to look at the corpse, it would be impossible to tell if he had died from a Life Link or from a zero-point range Corruption spell from an unseen foe.

Oh, yes, she could definitely come back here again. After all, she had faces to spare.

* * *

Side note: I never understood why illusionists tell people that they are illusionists, it's completely counterproductive and remains the major downfall of all illusionists everywhere. The second that people know that they are in an illusion, they start questioning what they see, but normally? People believe their eyes. I have only seen one use of illusions done right, and that's Aizen, definitely the highlight of an otherwise rather boring manga.


	5. The Geologist

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome.

The Geologist

* * *

He really, really envied dwarves.

With a natural affinity for long, hard physical work, excellent night vision and – of course – small stature, they were perfectly built for hacking out small lumps of stone from various places. Unfortunately, they didn't care much for documentation, which meant finding the actual seams had to be left to an expert, and that expert, more often than not, was him.

This was his first time in the Dungeon, though, and he already didn't like the place. The 'natural' caves were simply unnatural. Stone didn't work like that. And the stone bridge over the lava? Forget that, the lava itself? That wasn't nearly hot enough to be real lava. It's as if someone put together a huge deceptive zoo of natural habitats and strung them together with portals. He wouldn't be surprised if this were the case.

The most surprising thing, though, was the pop-ups. The first time he had examined a rock wall and a pop-up had appeared, he had made a strangled "waaaargh" noise and stumbled backwards, which was mightily embarrassing for a 50-year-old man. But it seemed to be consistently correct. Odder still, it seemed to give him more information that could be gleaned from a cursory glance, so although it did speed up his work, he wasn't sure whether he could fully trust it.

He was following what appeared to be a seam of Light Crystals - which didn't make any sense since Light Crystals form from mana wells, and came out as outcroppings, and never seams – when he found himself distanced from the team of adventurers he had tagged along with for protection. Desperately, he retraced his steps, but they had disappeared.

This...was pretty bad. There were no shops this deep down, no and adventurers only came down here rarely. His Earth magic might be able to protect him from a couple of monsters, but he didn't have enough energy to defend himself all the way back to the entrance, and he'd gotten so sidetracked by the irregular formations that he'd barely searched for the palladium ore he was supposed to be looking for. Extracting a the largest Light Crystals he could see so as not to return empty-handed, he carefully headed back towards the surface, sensing the floor for vibrations the while. Nevertheless, he got into a few alterations with the local monsters, which depleted his mana more than he felt comfortable with, so he carved himself out a small cave, sealed the entrance, and meditated, letting the energy of the surrounding stone flow into him.

Wow.

Now he realized why the crystals could grow in seams. This wasn't regular rock – this was living earth, the kind he'd only ever heard about! Such vibrant hues, such changing energy, so different from the hard, static ground he was used to dealing with! But there was something more, something beyond the living earth. There was a purpose to this rock, there was a living entity.

He shuddered. Could he, and all those that entered the Dungeon, be trapped inside a large Rock Golem? He had heard outrageous tales of the strength of The Gamer who had created this dungeon, and It seemed possible. But Golems are constrained to a very specific pattern, and this conciousness within the earth was inquisitive, playful even.

He felt something pushing against his soul. Instinctively he backed off and ceased his meditation, but thought the better of it. If this entity had wished him hurt, it could have easily disposed of him so far. He closed his eyes and returned to his trance.

There it was again, that soft, earthen feel – so far from the stony wall of the cave, so much closer to tilled land, rich earth ripe for planting...he reached out for contact.

The other force brushed against him gently. He felt the words in his head, flowing from all surroundings. "Young one, you have the spirit of the earth within you. Will you guide a younger spirit in your ways, and grant it from your mana, allowing it to bloom in the world?"

"What are you?" he asked. "What is this younger spirit?"

"I? I am...the spirit of this land. The younger spirit Is a part of me, a child of mine, that wishes to leave the land and live among the living. Will you take it, and guide it in the ways of the living?"

He thought about it for a while, and answered "I have several children of my own, and I hardly think I can be responsible for another, especially not in these circumstances."

He felt what might be a wave of benevolent amusement. "My child can care for itself, but needs your guidance in the ways of Man. It carries within it a part of my wisdom, and can help you in your journeys."

He mulled it over. He wasn't getting any younger, and some help could come in handy, specially in carrying specimens for research and trade. In exchange for mana, and what, cultural guidance? That wasn't a bad deal."I accept your proposal".

He felt a hum of satisfaction, and as the conciousness departed, he felt a part of it still attached to his soul. Feeling unusually energized from his contact with the Land Spirit, he awoke, to find several popup messages in front of him.

*ding!* Your Earth affinity has risen to 70.

*ding!* You have learnt a new skill - Summon Earth Elemental, medium.

*ding!* You have gained a new title – Earth Shaman.

*ding!* Your contract with the Earth Spirit grants you 30% more MP when meditating in contact with Earth.

…

Well.

He opened the cave, and looked for the earth spirit. None was in sight.

"...Earth spirit?"

The ground in front of him rose up, forming a cocoon, which gradually shaped itself into a young boy with grass-green eyes and lush brown hair.

"What is your name, spirit?"

Its expression unchanging, it looked at him. "I have no name. I am that I am".

"Hm. My first lesson to you in the way of the living is that every being has a name, by which it is identified by others. What do you wish to be known as?"

It kept string at him. It was a little unnerving, the expressionless, unblinking face. He would have to teach it quite a few things before it could fit in "Earth."

H exhaled. "I can't call you that. How about a rock type? Jet? Ruby? Crystal, perhaps?"

It continued staring at him. "Seed."

"Right, sure, okay then, Seed, can you carry this pack? My back's starting to hurt."

The boy-thing walked over awkwardly and picked the pack up by the handle, holding it at arms length, and started walking behind him. He grimaced inwardly. That just looked...wrong. Hopefully, by the time they reached the surface, it would learn enough to pass as a human, it would certainly be easier to explain sudden apprenticeship than adoption.

*ding!* Your level in Summon Earth Elemental has increased to 2.

And hopefully someone could explain to him something about these dratted popup windows.


	6. Punbattle

Episode 2 – Battle of the Puns

I srsly owe my brother for this you guys, kudos to him for exchanging of many of these puns.

As can be expected, [] indicate names of items, abilities and characters.

If you see a misspelling, it's probably a pun. I don't claim it's any good, though.

Maybe this should go in different fic, since it's a completely different style, but for now I'll just leave this here.

* * *

After fightning your way through swathes of [overling]s, you finally reach the top floor!

The [Sectretary (or something)] says: "You do have an appointment!" She attacks you with [Bureaucracy]! (A battleaxe)

You attempt to use [disarming smile]...but it Mrs.! (close-up of her wedding ring)

The [Polearm bear] envelopes the [Sectretary (or something)] in a [Bear Hug]! ('Envelopes', see?)

The [Sectretary (or something)] has fainted! Though it's hard to tell whether from happiness, asphyxiation or just plain tiredness.

You barge into the [Boss]'s office! (They ram a boat into the door)

It appears to be empty. The title over the ex-door now reads "Jar". You spy, behind his desk, the thinnest parchment you've ever seen! It looks perfect for writing your [Strongly Worded Letter] on!

You nicked [The Prints of E-Gypped(Legendary): Only the Highest Quality Printer Paper, for the Highest Quality Scams.] It nicks you back!

You descend to the [Ground Floor], and find the [Boss] in the [Snake Bar]! He's much shorter than you expected.

You attempt to use [Shocking Revelation]! The [Ground Floor] grounds your attack, bringing the [Mini Boss] back to earth!

The [Mini Boss] surrounds you with his [Overling]s! You sense that they are hungry for more than just power. You recall that [Soup Man, the Soucerer's Apprentice], started working at MacGuffin's ever since quests ceased to be a viable source of EXP. Maybe it's time to give him a call.

The [Beast Whisperer] dials [Pi] into his [Beast Caller], and summons ALL the digits of [Humble Pie]! Finally, a use for all that EXP you were lugging around!

You try to think of a suitable one-liner for the situation, but none springs to mind.

The [Overling]s have their [Humble Pie]s and eat them, and gain the status effect [Sense of Full-Fillment], rendering them incapable of doing battle!

The [Mini Boss] makes you an [Offer you Can't Refuse]! Your high DEF stat renders you immune to his [Honeyed Words]! (in picture - his words are indistinct, and there's a question mark above the beast whisperer's head)

The [Mini Boss] sees that you cannot be reasoned with, and is forced to Brandish his [Authority]!

Time to deal [Heavy Damage]! The [Bowler] draws a card, transforming the [Beast Whisperer]'s [Big Stick] into the [King of Clubs]!

The [Mini Boss] counters with his [Ace's Diamond]! Of course he had another card up his sleeve - you should have known he had some shady dealings.

[Beast Whisperer] uses [Call of the Wild: Bovine Intervention]!

The [Mini Boss], being a CEO, is used to dealing with large amounts of Bull! He waves his [Authority] in its face, and [Talks some Cents] into it! Your [Call of the Wild] is put on hold!

[Chief of Staff] casts [Paralize]! The bull is upgraded to the fabled [ParaBull]! (fabled, ha)

The [Mini Boss] summons a [Strawman Politician] with his [Executive Power]!

The [Strawman Politician] activates his special skill, [BullDozer]! Your [ParaBull] falls asleep!

The [Beast Whisperer] dials the [DreadNought] into his [Beast Caller], and casts [Call of the Wild: Horse Whisper] to summon the 4 horses of the Apocalypse!

The 4 Horsemen hold their horses!

Death calls for the [Beast Whisperer]. (Hell...o? in gothic script)

The [Beast Whisperer] finds himself at Death's door!

You attempt to open it with your [Skeleton Key]. It fails. Funny, you were certain that that would work.

Death opens the door for you, and points to a sign near the door - "Certain Death awaits. Please knock."

He casts [Death's Penalty]! You block the attack with your [Life Saber]!

You use your [Respawn Points] to escape from Death's [Clutches]! Death looks mildly put off. (picture of death using clutches, maybe he broke his leg earlier in the story? There's a 'Set a broken bone' pun in there...)

[Beast Whisperer] has been revivified!

Meanwhile, The [Chief of Staff] casts [Paralize] on the [Mercenary Hermit]'s bowl, turning it into a [Parabowl]!

Your mastery of the English language allows you to differentiate between this attack and the previously mentioned attack!

The [Mercenary Hermit] [ParaBowl]s the [Mini Boss]!

The [Mini Boss] blows the [Strawman Politician] out of proportion!

The [Strawman Politician] takes the hit for him!

You throw [Heavy Implications] at the [Strawman Politician]! (an anvil or something?)

The [Strawman Politician] is crushed!

As you rummage through his rested case, you find a [Letter of Recommendation(Epic)]!

You open it. There is a giant letter C written out on the piece of paper. As you gaze into the C, you feel the C gazing into you!

You gain the ability [First among Peers]! You feel relieved that you didn't get the letter P.


	7. The King

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be.

* * *

The King

Not long after the Great Reveal, representatives of the major world forces gathered together to discuss what was, in a sense, the eradication of evil. The Committee for Disarmament of Hostile Groups faced a lot of antagonism at the time of its inception, since most of the major parties had aimed at world conquest at one time or another, and after continuous deliberation they managed to agree on a definition of primary targets for disarmament, willingly or otherwise. The number of entities wholeheartedly aiming for the unequivocal destruction of the entire world was alarmingly high, and a subcommittee was appointed in each country to identify all major threats and deliver factual evidence of their willingness and efforts towards world destruction.

By pooling their resources and authorizing use of excessive force, many a demon lord and essence of evil soon found him/her/itself restrained and brought before a court to be judged according to its answers, although many more had to be stopped by more permanent status effects, up to and including some of the more advanced stages of death. Entities of pure malevolence and hatred were simple enough to deal with, mindless destruction types even more so. In those beings that expressed sentiment other than revelling in death, the death penalty consequentially became harder to impose. Moral quandaries were raised over whether "Soon, the entire world shall be crushed under my heel" was a statement towards rampant destruction or simply conquest, whether being cast out to the cosmos was ethical to that which was cast out and to others who may or may not exist within the galaxy, and what rights various beings had in this new world order.

The major heads of the factions being humans, the decisions of the Committee had a distinct bias towards humanoid life-forms. Other intelligences, especially non-biological or bacterial, were looked upon with suspicion by most, and were rarely granted full rights unless a member of the race presented itself to the council to explain its culture, modes of communication and history.

This left the more territorial races and those whose modes of communication were alien to humans at a distinct disadvantage, and many at risk of extinction. Anthropologists rushed to every scene, tirelessly recording every facet they could while each group still kept its distinct cultural values and traditions. Many populations were lawfully exploited, the law not being fully equipped to deal with magical and technological sentience or xenohuman rights.

The 74th level of the dungeon was the Lair of the Dragon King, and he was having none of it. Dragons are egotistical and solitary creatures by nature, and it was only through Dungeon-given status as the Boss of the level that he was named King, but the natural pride of dragons made him take his duties very seriously.

When first adventurers arrived at the level, each dragon occupied his own personal space, and they tended not to get involved in the affairs of others. With careful preparation, a group of 5 adventurers who had survived the 73rd level could dispatch of a lone dragon, and the spoils were well worth the risk.

Even a dozen adventurers could not hope to fend off two dragons at once, though, so rather than group the dragons into squads, which would severely impact their sense of autonomy and independence, the King assigned two guards to stay hidden at the sides of the entrance to the level, with orders to dispose any adventurers who dared enter. He backed this up with a severe warning that should they fail to show up to guard, the Dungeon would provide a replacement to them, with the added incentive that all loot from the adventurers would be split equally between the two guards. He provided no guidelines on how the split would be made, knowing that the guards may wish to resolve the issue by less-than-peaceful means.

For a long time, no adventurer passed the entrance, but the King knew this would not hold. The adventurers knew of the guards, and had set up encampments right beyond the entrance to the level, sending magical attacks, gas canisters and other long-distance attacks to damage the guards. Eventually, the would break through, and if they were not diverted to the later levels of the dungeon, they would expend all their energy on his subjects. An alternate path would have to be constructed.

The King ordered, and participated in, the construction of a rudimentary fort in the center of the level, encompassing approximately a quarter of the level. Each dragon who wished to construct his own den in the fort was welcome to – otherwise, he told them, he could not assure their safety.

With the fort constructed, the King issued a proclamation at the entrance that all who wished to pass could do so, but they must offer a toll of both knowledge and goods, and relinquish their weapons at the entrance, whereupon they would be escorted the the exit and their weapons would be returned to them.

The proclamation stood for days, none daring to risk the passage. Finally, a summoned animal was sent, toll in its mouth, and was escorted to the exit, where it promptly desummoned and returned to its owner. A few brave souls then dared enter the passage and be escorted to the other side, and returned living, and the passage was open for business.

The logistics of the passage became complicated and risky with the rise of adventurers. With only twenty dragons at his disposal, and with at least two dragons needed to guard both entrance and exit and another two to escort the those passing, every dragon would need to be on duty a third of the time, which was too much to ask of such individualistic creatures, even as their king.

The passage was blocked with slabs of stone and the passage was opened only once every three days, and when that proved to be too much, once per week. A few fools decided to break the slabs, which were no hindrance to an adventurer who had so far survived 73 levels of the dungeon, but they were greeted by an army of ten dragons, which definitely were. As was to be expected, the dividing of the ex-adventurers' equipment was fierce.

As the tolls accumulated and the knowledge widened, the branches of knowledge started being defined and the society of the dragons started taking form – some dragons assigned themselves roles as Loremasters, Defenders or Mystics, and each started studying its field, the dragon's natural pride being a much more powerful compulsion for self-improvement than survival ever managed to be. Those who did nothing but their guard duty were looked upon as slackers, and after a while there were none left. The fort was rebuilt, the entrances sealed by increasingly complex magical charms, and diplomatic relations with the Dungeon Management commenced. Observers were worried about the rapid escalation in the development of the dragons, their concerns growing when observers noticed that some of the dragons had gained levels, a development which was unheard-of in the Dungeon so far. Traders started negotiating for Dragonmade enchantments, but hit a snag when the traders inadvertently referred to the dragons as "not real people". The King was told as an apology that since the dragons were formed by the magic of the dungeon and the dungeon was created by Han Jee-Han, a human, the dragons were technically Human summons, and the King responded by saying he completely understood and by banning all trading with humans until they were officially recognized, other races clamouring to fill the space left by the embarrassed traders.

Despite them being evidently intelligent and capable of human speech and moral reasoning, the recognition of dragons as independent, self-sentient beings took three months. During that time, other races had started gathering in the dragon fort, especially with other unrecognised species seeing it as a refuge and sanctuary from the incomprehensible, humanoid-biased laws that registered creatures such as mudkips as possessions.

As stalls, workshops and even smithies began emerging around the fort, it slowly became clear that these were not simply temporary constructs – a city was being built here, right before their eyes, a city in which the human laws held no sway. Many came to the city, hoping to establish monopolies or grab ground while they could, but the King made it abundantly clear that all lands in the level were his, and his alone. Individuals from other races were asking to become citizens, and the Dragon King welcomed them into his land, but declared that he would rule over his own people, and would make decisions based on the advantages to dragons only. But everyone knew that in actuality, all had equal rights in the lands of the King, and anyone who attempted a Breach of the Peace, say, by harassing or discriminating against other races, would be held accountable in a way usually solved by a considerable amount of money being given to the victim, and a little on the side for the King.

Taxes were imposed on all sales, and an economy started to emerge. The Lair of the Dragon King became the Realm of the Dragon King, advisors to the King were selected from amongst the dragons, with the duties of guarding and peacekeeping having shifted slowly over time to the other races, who were compensated in turn by the King. The inner fort became a place of learning and advancement, with lectures given daily by the dragons themselves and by visiting adventurers.

Even with all this, though, the animosity between the realm and the humans remained, with the King and the Dungeon administration reaching a formal status quo. The administration knew that were the dragons to go to war, it would be more than just a simple battle. It would be an all-encompassing war between those who saw themselves as humans and those who did not. Were the dragons to attempt to claim levels beyond their own, no-one was in a position to stop them, but they appeared to be satisfied with their own borders.

With every passing day, the realm grew, the dragons at the center of it all becoming wiser and more knowledgeable, those who chose the path of the Defender honing their skills and tactics. It was said that a single Defender could clear out the next ten levels of the Dungeon with ease, and although this as an exaggeration, it was not much of one. They needed no sleep, no companionship, no food. What drove them was the extent of their pride in their abilities and personalities, and the kingdom thrived.

In the center of it all stood the King. There were those who speculated it would not actually be that difficult to dispose of him, and in his place there would respawn a different king, one who had not levelled up and who did not understand the intricacies of the diplomatic web surrounding him. But most agreed that were it to come to that, diplomacy would be continued by other means.

And thus was the Kingdom of Dragons forged.

* * *

Okay then, I have several ideas for the next chapters, and if any of them sounds interesting I would love to hear from you, plus all suggestions are welcome of course.

The Research Assistant – scientifically measuring the power of prayer at a church of healing in a battlefield. Gods definitely exist, no doubt about it. God, who knows? Now you're getting metaphysical.

The Builder – how the reconstruction of the fort, and later the city, went down. If The King was a very Civilization-type chapter, then this is a much more Sim City one. How do you get running water, and where do the sanitary outputs go, in a level with only a set of stairs leading in and out? Luckily, teleportation is a thing we've established, so we'll be thinking with portals, gettin' into da infrastructure and boldly splitting infinitives no man has split before.

The Economist – a report on the financial and industrial achievements of the Party system and the shopping areas, and the devaluing implications that the money-loot system may or may not have on the rest of the world outside the Dungeon.

The Librarian – A shapeshifting artificial mana experimentation subject, or maybe a clone, has passed the tests and will be monitored remotely, and is now free to live its own life. As it searches for self-definition, it finds it in books, culture and the careful categorization of knowledge in the halls of the Dragon King.

The Blacksmith – An elder blacksmith sets off in an attempt to create a modern artifact. Very much a crafting tale, a little on the quest-y side.

You may have noticed there's not all that much fighting going on (no duh), because that's not the story I'm here to tell, there are many others that tell it much better than me

Peace out! ^_^


	8. The Accountant

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be.

* * *

The Accountant

They say that knowledge is power, and like all other kinds of power, knowledge can be gained in paramoral ways. The Great Reveal left humanity fully aware of how little it really knew about the world around it, and researchers around the world strove to remedy that error as best they could. Scientific institutions were set up to try and understand each type of power, and how it could be utilized by those outside the specific group from which it originated. Humans – or para, demi, neo and half-humans – were the main subject of experimentation, due to their incredible diversity and their willingness to cooperate if given large sums of cash.

However, with great lust for power came great shirking of responsibility. Given the newfound state of cloning technology and the legal loophole which classified lab-created clones as research specimens, the institutions turned to mass cloning, in some cases with artificial or grafted mana organs and ki centers, to create the endless datapoints which could turn them in the right direction.

For any person, being faced with your own mortality is a shocking experience, and so people are somewhat put off by stories of death. Being faced with the commoditization of your race is even more difficult. But humans are adaptive creatures, and nothing distances emotion and compassion as much as the phrase "they're not like us", which had been the go-to phrase for proponents of slavery for centuries. And so, people knew that clone experimentation was taking place, but rather them than us, right?

It was only after many years, when videos and pictures of the mutilations these clones were regularly undergoing had been leaked to the media, that the public at large became aware of what these self-aware, lab-grown humans were subject to. Dissent rose further when each group realized that "their" people, "their" clones were being used in research by "other" groups, and the physiological closeness of genetics overpowered the alienation of cloning, and lead to massive protesting.

The government's power did not extend enough to allow them to interfere directly with the internal workings of the factions, but with popular opinion behind them, they were able to come to an agreement with the heads of the factions that cloning research would be limited to organs and bones – not to whole bodies, and definitely not live ones. Full rights and recognition as human beings were not yet granted to the clones, and many research facilities suddenly saw a large drop in the number of living clone experimentation models and an equal rise in cloned body parts, before it legally constituted as murder.

Not all researchers were as law-abiding as they were law-fearing, and a whole underground network of labs and scientific equipment formed between those who were unwilling to abandon their research projects at such a state. These projects received the unofficial backing of many of the major factions, as their attempts to research the power of the opposing factions through conventional methods was limited at best – the research facilities for each power were beholden to the faction that created them, and although constructive information flowed freely, destructive information – regarding the weaknesses of each faction – remained a heavily guarded secret.

Many of the clones not scheduled for eventual dismemberment were not treated badly – to receive the most accurate readings possible, researchee cooperation was required, and so they were taught to speak and interact, were well-fed and not treated to extreme amounts of stress and pain when not scientifically required. Even among those researchers that saw them as data machines, they were treated fairly, as their paranoid side felt that it was only a matter of time before their illicit activities were discovered, and the clones would be set free, and we all remember what happened in sector 7 after the abused test subjects were given freedom. Many more of the researchers saw the clones as their coworkers and lab partners, while some – especially the older ones – saw them as the lab's children and students, and they were treated accordingly.

And so it was with a heavy heart, a name from a random name generator and a stipend that barely covered the expenses incurred from renting a flat with a roommate that he left the police processing. They said that it was an inside job, that there were people in the lab in league with the Church or the Dragon Clan. But that wasn't what he cared about. More to the point, he wasn't sure what he cared about, or what he was supposed to care about, or even what he was. Stepping into the glaring light of a sun he had rarely seen, surrounded by sights and sounds he had never encountered, he took his first steps out towards the vast new world that greeted him.

And he hated every minute of it.

He never asked for freedom. In the lab, he was good at what he did, he knew what he needed to do and there was a sense of accomplishment in furthering the knowledge of mankind. Now? He was just a throwaway who by law was prohibited from participating in scientific inquires regarding his power. He was not suited to the bustling, confusing outside world, he didn't belong there, and sometimes other people seemed to notice it too, given the looks he got in the street.

His testers never told him exactly what his power was, hinting that the would find out eventually and that that too was a test, but certainly part of it was lightning-fast processing of information, although it hardly helped him fit in. What was so different about him? What differentiated him from everyone else?

One thing stood out immediately: literacy. In the lab, he was never taught to read – prior knowledge of things he should be unaware of could lead to unexpected results, which is the last thing you want out of a test subject. But in the real world, everything required the ability to read, from navigation directions to microwave instructions. But everyone knew how to do it, it couldn't be that hard, right?

He started from picture books, and since he knew the names of the objects, he was able to figure out the meaning of the letters pretty quickly. Everywhere he looked, society broadcast at him that intelligent people were people who read, and although the direction of the cause-effect was unclear it was probably mutual. In any case, no-one seemed to think that reading was bad, and so he started to read, slowly at first as he learned the letters but increasing in speed as he progressed. Although he could process information quickly, retaining it was a different matter – even after he was skilled at reading and could read a dictionary in a couple of days, barely anything stuck. Stories were better – he remembered stories.

But still he felt an outcast. After he had finished the books in the library, he moved town, but there it continued – all clones shared a number of distinct characteristics, and with the recognition there came the guarded look, the not-quite-hostile glances, the protective arms over children. What had he done to deserve this treatment? What had any clone done?

He read online that the dragons had received official recognition as self-aware sentients, and that a trade agreement between them and the management of the dungeon had been reached. This surprised him – he had only seen dragons in fantasy books, and he knew for a fact that the so-called Dragon clan was comprised of humans, thus he had assumed that they did not exist. As he read of the rise of the dragon kingdom, he knew he had found the place he was looking for. A place where all were equal, regardless of species, source or form – he highly doubted that it was be all that it claimed to be, but it was certainly worth a shot.

First and foremost, there was the issue of how. He had no money and no aquaintances, and only a few meagre belongings to his name. Although it was common for weaker would-be dungeoneers to join a party, and the party's leader would pay for the travel costs in return for another pair of fighting hands, that was only applicable if those hand could fight. He had never raised a hand against another loving create, much less in an attempt to kill, and he was sure he didn't have the capacity for it.

Which left the other oft-trodden path - joining a clan, and contributing to the clan while recieving the benefits that came of being a member. Unlike joining a party, where the commitment was transient, joining a clan meant long-time commitment to the cause. Among the many clans in the area, the Dragon clan was probably the strongest, but their acceptance criteria included recognition by one of the clan's fighters, which would be nigh impossible for him.

The Church could work, though. They expected their members to act in good faith and had a non-aggression pact with the major powers, which made them a sensible, if rather boring, option.

He couldn't forget the rumours linking the Church to the the raid on the labs, the root cause of his current predicament. But while not necessarily the fastest track, it was most certainly the safest one he could think of. And so, with doubt in his heart, he gathered what little belongings he had and set out.

* * *

His formal induction to the Church was much simpler than he had anticipated. He was given a pamphlet outlining the basics of the Church - the difference between the god they worshipped and whose powers they channeled, to the metaphysical God, an entity who may or may not exist; The mission statement of the Church, which was to bring good to the world by harnessing the power granted to gods by prayer; and the initial strife and final grudging acceptance of the Church by actual religious groups, done if whom see them as blasphemers attempting to use God for their own needs, and some of whom accepted this fact but we upper that the Church had taken the religious trappings and used them for what was, in the end, a non-religious organisation.

He was quickly granted an interview with one of the ministers, who was to be his mentor, to whom he explained his reasons for joining the Church. The minister then ran a few tests to determine his species - he was recognized as human, and no indication was given of him being a clone - and explained the Pact, the final step of the initiation

The Pact was, in essence, a low-level psychic link to other members of the Church. It allowed for dissemination of information and acted as a way to call for backup and to determine the position of other Church members, but also as a channel to the god, enabling even the least-connected of the Church to call upon his powers when needed. Higher levels of the clergy recieved higher levels of the Pact, allowing them to communicate over larger distances and utilize more of the god's powers.

The flip side was that if you went against the Church, that link would be used to send you a message - one message, 'Repent', sent every ten seconds as strongly as possible. You would be unable to concentrate, unable to sleep well, and there were numerous cases where it led to literal insanity. It sounded more like a demon contract than a business agreement, but considering his position and the extreme unlikelihood of him going absorbed the Church, the benefits far outweighed the risks, and so he accepted.

After the Pact was completed, he recieved his first set of robes - which was to be his uniform from here on - and a dove pendant, signifying his rank as Acolyte.

The Minister explained the system to him. Every act where you contributed to the Church, you gained points. Every act where the Church contributed to you, it cost you points. Advancing your level through the hierarchy also cost you points. Some people, who were content with doing menial tasks, chose to spend their points only on food and living accommodations, saving up extra points towards retirement. Others, wishing to climb the ranks, took on any extra jobs they could find to advance as quickly as possible. Of course, the day-to-day job of a higher-racking member was more valuable, and thus earned more points, but as the Gospel of Unc. Benjamin proclaimed, 'Great power, with great responsibility cometh'.

The first basic tasks assigned to him were the 'classic' Acolyte tasks - cleaning, cooking and prayer, but considering his abilities the minister also gave him the option to proofread the church's written messages. He had barely started and he had already finished - for he was given only the local messages, at first - and so the minister found a balance sheet, thinking that perhaps this skill would also lend itself to accounting.

But when he saw the page, he was stumped. Rows of numbers, devoid of meaning and carefully abstracted away from context, stated back at him. How was he supposed to understand what was going on? What was the story here?

The minister shrugged and made to take the sheet away from him - it was no great loss, after all - but he asked him to let him keep it. His whole self-image that he had crafted for himself revolved around intelligence and knowledge, and he would not let a piece of paper get the better of him!

* * *

The following weeks were those of frustration. He read everything he could find on the Church's computers regarding accountancy, to no avail. It was all math and number games, with no talk of the underlying meaning.

It was only after a few weeks that he encountered - in a self-help website, of all places - bookkeeping as a method for people struggling with debt.

Struggling with debt. It all made sense now! The balance sheets were records of the endless war between Gain and Loss, between Income and Expense, and the accountant was a historian, with the outcome of the battle being the bottom line!

Every line, now, became part of the story - the battle that raged back and forth, with each charge being another charge in the battle. The stakes? Poverty for a loss, prosperity for a gain.

It now flowed freely, and he could see the battle in his head. The mysterious terms used became sigils, mysteries of the ancient text to be uncovered. And he would reveal it all - for every page was another record, and every battle could turn the tide of the war.

* * *

Wow

You set out to write one thing and you end up with something else entirely...

Hopefully we'll be seeing this guy later :)

I'd love to hear what y'all think so far, ideas etc.


	9. The Blood Mage

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be.

* * *

Episode 8 - The Blood Mage

Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen. A well-respected doctor and medical scientist, with an alarming repertoire of medical knowledge, he is well-known in Switzerland for being one of the top surgeons in the country, perhaps in the world. A calm and patient man,although sadly a mute, he is completely driven in his work – his assistants claim that he never seems to sleep, and it is certainly true that he can be seem in the Hospital at all times, checking the health of the staff as much as that of the patients. They say he knows the human body down to the individual molecules, and yet he can calm any child just by holding their hand and gazing into their eyes.

Nevertheless, there are certain...tales of him being interested in the animation of dead tissue. An honorary member of multiple associations, some from what must either be a clerical error, although it is harder to explain those awards that appear to have been given last millennia. Databanks of the Geneva University Hospitals confirm that for over a hundred years, he has been periodically requested to examine the teaching material, and there are occasionally pictures of him with great personages in the field of medical science, from anywhere to last year to two centuries ago. What _is_ known is that he asks many of his patients, usually those who have returned to full health and have a long life ahead of them, to consider donating their bodies to science so that others may benefit from the gift that he has given them. Over-enthusiastic students (and reporters, and policemen) have raided his house and laboratories a number of times, but have found nothing amiss – a fact that conjures even greater paranoia in the hearts of those suspecting, because obviously whatever he's hiding is hidden _well_.

In short, he is a...man...of great psychological insight: to avoid being suspected of arson, it is better to put yourself in a position where you are actively suspected of jaywalking. As long as he continues to live far beyond the lifespan of a regular human being, people will attribute it to something, and better to be a benevolent, reanimated doctor than, say, a vampire.

But he is not the focus of our story – he cannot be, since he is living a peaceful life, and consequentially, has no need to seek out the more remote parts of the world. Unlike a certain someone...

o-o-o-o

Unlife was hard, being a minor vampire. Being easily recognizable, having obvious and commonly found flaws such as wood and sunlight (of all things), hardly made up for the increased strength vampirism granted you. What use was strength in a modern society, anyway?

Vampirism was supposed to make you stronger. That may be true for second-generation vampires or even third-generation, in the dark and under the right circumstances, but as a fourth-generation, she was hardly half the woman she used to be. Humans certainly had an easy life – they could work anywhere without fear of randomly dying because they were recognized by any of the dozen factions who were out 'to eradicate evil', they could learn any sort of magic, and they could lead happy, normal lives. Sometimes. For Vampires, happy lives were only to be found at battlefields. Battlefields were The Shit – bodies everywhere just waiting to be bled, people mostly using nonlethal damage on each other (metal shrapnel was merely an inconvenience, and as long as she stayed away from the central fighting, no-on would waste an RPG on a lone figure) and even the Red Cross didn't actually carry any actual crosses with them. Not the wooden type, anyway, which is what mattered.

At least, that's what it used to be. But the current state of guerilla warfare complicated things. For a start, you could never tell where the fighting was at, if you were seen bleeding a body you were suspected of having killed it, and worst of all, it was in the city! With the Church and the Vatican's agents and who knew what else roaming around like they owned the place! Even the local police had caught on and a shotgun with wood splinter and quicksilver shard rounds (along with, he understood, elements of weaknesses of other common creatures) was available in every police van. How on earth was a vampire supposed to unlive in such a Godsawful place?

Sure, the countryside was a goo place, rural areas were fine...as long as you weren't recognized by one of the villagers, what with your pale skin and large fangs and all, and then the Godsdamn police would come teleporting in! It was no wonder that the third-generation who had Turned her had gotten wiped out so quickly, and lucky, too – Vampires were almost as uncaring about the lives of their Thralls as the Humans were.

There were only 2 things she could reasonably do. The first was to try and find a first-generation to turn her into a second generation. Difficult – first-generations were constantly monitored, second-generations were usually hunted down before they could get accustomed to their powers, and why would a First-generation want another basic Human body on their team rather than a spellcaster, or a gnoll? Heck, even vampirising a bird would be more useful to them. She was lower down the pecking order than a vamp'd rat.

The second would be to find a place without any civilians. Civilians were always protected by a million secret organizations. A good place would be one of the minor branches of the Clans, although given that they were of the Clans, even a single one of them could probably beat her black and blue before even realizing what she was, and even though it didn't kill, it damn hurt. It would only be a short while before her identity was discovered, and then bam, twig to the eye, log to the face, so much for that.

That was the dreadful truth – the only people she could take on in a fight were civilians, and they were too well protected for her to actually attempt anything.

What she needed was a place like the battlefield – where she knew there would be corpses,and where no-one would pay that much attention to her sneaking around the outskirts.

Unfortunately, there was no such place on earth. And without blood, she would die, or whatever the term was, but not before succumbing to a crazed thirst for blood that remove all her decision-making and rational though and get her instantly killed.

Well, when in doubt, the Internets shall provide. She searched "active battlefields", "current wars"...

When she searched "Weapons production", she found an unusual paper, on the usability of firearms in some place called the Dungeon.

The Dungeon didn't seem to like firearms very much. First of all, no guns or ammo of any sort seemed to drop from any of the creatures in the Dungeon. Even the more robotic levels, which dropped pieces of high-tech equipment, never had a hint of gunpowder on them, the only thing coming close was the exploding tags dropped by the higher-level oriental zombies, which seemed closer to Fireball explosions than grenades. And although makeshift weapons could be made by using magic or tags as a propellant, the closer the results got to modern weaponry, the more they seemed to earn the ire of the Dungeon, and could be evidence by the more direct response to firearm use.

While bringing a gun to knife fight was certainly an easy way of obliterating your opponent at a distance, it was also the most effective way of causing all the monsters in the level to attack you. With Berserk Rage. From all angles. Thus, while useful as an attention-grabber and an absolute form of Taunt, its capability as a weapon was limited to crews of approximately 5 people all with automatic weapons standing in a corner of a level with no other adventurers in sight , and even then they were of limited use against the higher-level bosses, whose damage reduction was per-hit, and thus unconstrained by the regular laws of physics could withstand multiple small attacks much better than a single large attack.

The more she read about this strange place, the better it sounded. Large amounts of people risking their life in battle? No faction-induced terrorism in the streets? (yet, she reminded herself, yet.) Best of all, no sodding Protectors of any sort? It was perfect!

o-o-o-o

It was far from perfect.

Well, it should have been perfect, since most of the monsters here could hardly harm her. She should be happily murdering her way to riches and freedom, instead of hiding in the outskirts .

Well, at least the light here didn't seem to burn her, even when it looked like sunlight, but she was pretty sure they were underground (although where exactly seemed to be a question no-one could answer) so that solved that problem.

However, it didn't offset the major problem, which was the privacy-intruding mess that the Names over people's heads were. The guards at the first level didn't seem to mind, but hell, they'd probably seen everything there was to see. Two of the guards had been having a mock-battle in a stage, with a couple of the others watching. She had seen the levels of attacks they were using – each one could annihilate a mountain. All of them, without a doubt, were amongst the strongest warriors that could be found. What the hell was someone of that power doing guard duty for?

And she was thirsty. Gods, she was thirsty, and if she flipped here it would be the end of her. She was heading up the levels as fast as she could, to try and find a place where people were actually dying.

Finally – finally! - she saw a body mauled to death by a Hydra. She ran up to it and started bleeding the body – biting directly into a corpse is not the best way to hide your vampirism.

She heard a voice right behind her say "Hey!" ohcrapohcrapohcrap there was a whole group of them "He was in our party, you can only get pick of the loot for Unaffiliateds!"

...What? Oh. Ohhhhh. Well, good thing they didn't notice...

"Wait, is that a cut on his wrist? Are you _gathering_ the _blood_?!"

Shitshitshitshit

"Nah, it's cool then, we just want his stuff. Must be tough, being a Blood Mage, huh."

A blood mage. That was a thing? They existed? That was the best excuse she had had heard, well, ever! As long as she kept her mouth shut, and maybe put on a hood – or maybe she could cover her face with blood, it was icky but maybe blood mages did that. But why didn't they recognize what she was? She wasn't that high-leveled, surely.

One of his comrades must have seen the shocked (not scared to death, haha definitely not why would you think that) look on her face, because she started calming her down immediately. "No, it's fine, look, I know it's a forbidden magic outside, but the outside laws don't apply here, it's fine! Look, this guy here is a Demon Summoner and no-one gives him any beef about it. Much."

"More like tiny pest summoner" said another of the bunch

"Is _that_ how you joined us?" she retorted. "Point is, you're among friends. Are you looking for a party?"

"N, N thnks", she managed to get out. These fangs were the most _annoying_ things. If she let her guard down, she'd be outed in an instant.

"Well, suit yourself. How about we take his items, and you take the rest of the body? After all, no-one really likes to deal with the burial rites."

Rites? What rites?

o-o-o-o

Well, that as considerably easier than she expected. Apparently you could get rid of corpses easily by muttering a prayed to Lugonu the Unformed, and eve though is was weird to see purpley tentacles come out of a portal and take the body, it's not like it was the strangest thing she'd seen in this place. Why were the other adventurers loathe to do it?

When the overpowering smell of the blood had calmed down, she realized she could smell fresh meat, many different types of meat, and none of it was human. She was full enough now. sure, but it never hurt to be curious.

It was coming from that guy over there – she could see him fighting a Sea Otter, and yup, down it went...

As it faded, it left in its place hunks of meat. She couldn't believe it. Everyone knew that the creatures were made of the magic of the Dungeon, you couldn't actually _eat_ them!

But then again, the potions that they dropped were also technically from the Dungeon's magic, and there seemed to be no problem in consuming them...

As she approached the man, she saw his title. "Gourmand". So it was a class skill-type thing? Could it be taught? Maybe she could join him, and he could give her the livers or other bloodier organs. The otters were huge – even a single liver should keep her going for a day.

Now that her levels in Disguise were good enough - and they should be, she'd been hiding for a while – she was much less wary when approaching strangers.

"How did you do that … thing. with the corpse?"

He looked at her. She looked a little ill, or maybe she was just tired – It was hard to to tell, sometimes.

"You just need to know that it's a part of the corpse you need, that's all. The Dungeon takes care of the rest."

It couldn't be that simple, surely? "But I've needed that for a while and I've never gotten anything like that!"

He smiled. "Ah, but did you know that you needed it, or just _think_ you needed it? I'll show you a trick someone taught me. Gather, say, 10 otter tails for me."

A quest alert popped up in front of her. Rewards – XP, increased knowledge of Dungeon loot? Sure, why not.

She went and massacred a bunch of sea-otters. With her Vampire's strength and the fact that she was ore or less invulnerable to anything they could throw at her, it went pretty quickly. Beavers, though, beavers she had to watch out for.

She brought the Gourmand back the tails he asked for.

"Ah, good, I'll make us a soup. But first, tell me, have sea otters ever dropped tails for you before?"

She stopped. Now that she thought about it, they didn't usually drop tails, only fur, and rarely fish.

He smiled at her. "See? That's what I meant about knowing you needed something! Now what if I told you to gather otter corpses?"

Ha. She could work with that. And despite her unease, she smiled back.

o-o-o-o

She had given herself a quest, to ease into the loot drops. "Gather 10 vials of blood from every monster in the Dungeon". Oh, she would never finish it, but it had no expiration date, and the fact that the blood was in vials now made it much easier to carry around, and also much easier to pose as a Blood Mage. She had actually picked up a little real blood magic, by watching a wizard invoke a summoning, and the Skills menu told her it was coming along nicely. She decapitated the racoonish bird with a blood sword – it was only appropriate, after all – and uncorked one of the vials it dropped.

*ding!* You have gained a new skill – It's In The Blood. After drinking blood of a creature, you gain 5% of its skill levels.

Finally! She knew this would come, ever since she heard what the Gourmet ability consisted of. It was inevitable. But she hadn't expected it to be _this_ good.

Creatures. Not monsters. That meant Humans were included, too.

She flashed a toothy grin at no-one in particular. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.


	10. The Bishop

A follow-up to The Accountant

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be.

* * *

Before recieving his bishophood, he was told that there was no vacant spot for a Bishop in his current church, and he would need to go elsewhere, where he could lead a congregation rather than be lead.

Throughout the ceremony he mulled over the subject. Years ago, he thought to seek out The Dungeon, but instead he had found himself a home in the Church. The semi-familial relations he had with his fellow priests and other members had come in lieu of the family he never had, and his search for a place to belong was concluded without even leaving the city.

But still, there were others - others that would be now as he was then, alone in the world, and who would be drawn to the Dungeon as he was.

And why wouldn't they be? It was the ultimate meritocracy, enforced in part by Gaia itself and in part by the clan representatives. You may find your death within, but discrimination was hard put to hold out in the face of such danger.

He would speak to the archbishop and attempt to set up a church there. He had understood that the Church was loathe to seek a foothold there, for logistical rather than political concerns - food arrived in vast quantities at the top level, but that was where the central trading hub was, as well. All supplies had to be transported down through all the layers, as teleportation to lower levels simply didn't work, so the lower down you went, the more expensive everything was.

On the top level, the church's influence would be minor, drowned out by the masses of people. Only on the lower levels, where healing and purification were rare and sought after, the church could become a central hub.

And so, as it always did, it came down to cost effectiveness.

But he had a plan, one that had been brewing in his mind since his first years in the Church.

The Church provided free healing - that was a fact, one of the definitive rules of the Church and the main reason for its massive success.

But free always attracted people, and people always had other needs, beyond those that were being freely fulfilled.

Chances were, that anyone seeking healing in The Dungeon would not be in their best condition. Food and board would be high in their list of priorities, and they would be looking for it as quickly as possible - it was a sound business venture, if he could find the right business partners.

And of course, any member of the Church could get a substantial discount by using contribution points instead if money, so even from a recruitment standpoint it looked favorable.

Oh, he knew there were those that looked askance at him for treating the Church as a business. But he had been dealing with the Church's finances for years, and in the end, results came about due to careful planning and calculated decisions and not by flights of fancy. Idealism or not, there was no substitute for two feet planted firmly in reality.

He would discuss it with the archbishop in the morning, and would hope for a favorable result.

* * *

And here he was, 3 months later, at floor 90 of the Dungeon. This was where he could make maximum impact, which meant that it was far beyond the safe areas of the Dungeon. He had _severely_ underestimated the cost of what he was attempting. There was a reason that like-minded businessmen had not set up inns at the lower levels of the Dungeon - when a boss monster appeared, adventurers could simply run, but buildings were not so fortunate. It was only by a combination of extreme haggling, personal expenditure, favors he was owed, favors he now owed and the buying power of the Church that he had managed to arrange such a setup. The Church had provided a lump sum for the construction of the church, but that was intended for regular places where you could construct houses industrially.

In the middle of a mountainous chasm, surrounded by dire wolves, such an operation was...less possible.

At least the upkeep costs would be relatively low. The warding experts had suggested an apathy array, since matching the monsters power-to-power would be extremely energy-consuming. Luckily, that still fell under the god's domain of Protection, so it could be powered by prayer.

Most of the workforce enlisted in the construction were from the Dragon kingdom, some 15 levels below. They were high enough here that even adventurers a few levels down would rather come to the Church, risking a few high levels, than trudge all the way down to the Kingdom, which in total was a far greater risk.

The church itself had to be made of materials that wouldn't break after an assault or two - even the best wards could be overcome, and to not have a second line of defence may prove disastrous. The wards had to be weaved into the stones, and of course it had to be built in a way that attacking the building wouldn't disrupt the wards. It was not a simple matter, not a cheap one.

Well, at least the negotiations for the food supplies were going well. He was almost out of capital at this point, and there was still the matter of the priests that he was supposed to get. There was food that needed to be made and laundry, beds and cleaning, and it wasn't like you could get cheap labor out here in the middle of nowhere.

Oh well, they'll manage. And if he had to help out with the menial stuff, that would be good for morale, too.

* * *

The church was finally built, and became the last safe haven of the Dungeon - at least for the time being.

Although there weren't that many adventurers passing through - a trek this deep into the Dungeon would take a number of months, not to mention the dangers - but every one that did come this far, invariably came to the Church for healing, gossip and board.

One thing that he did not expect to happen was internal trade - which was particularly annoying, since if he had thought of setting up a small item booth he could have profited far more. As it was, even when the booth was set up, it served more as a general store than a trader's hut, with the majority of trade occuring between adventurers.

One unexpected bon was the amount of information he was aquiring. Only the stronger class of adventurers could make it this far, so the quality and veracity of the information he was getting on a daily basis was worth far more than the money the adventurers were supplying him with. To be fair, though, the information gained him church contribution points and not actual money - which would be nice in any civilized area, but it here the only one who would exchange contribution points for material objects was...himself.

Powering the wards was far simpler than he had imagined - they had placed a plaque outside that anyone who wishes to enter had to give thanks to the god, so that the wards would keep working, and that took care of that.

He had already requested another priest to help out, and the regularly supplies kept the place going, but he did have one problem.

One of the deals he made in order to get the church built was that he promised to house the Paladins of the order for half price.

This, in retrospect, was a mistake.

Once word got out that by joining the Church as a Paladin, you could essentially use the church for pittance, the number of Paladins in the level 90 area skyrocketed. Again, good for the Church, but less so for him.

Although... He was a Bishop now. He could not only five stuff for points, but also points for stuff, and services rendered.

And these Paladins returned to the lower levels eventually, and were pact-bound as he was...

This could be useful indeed.

* * *

The church had attracted its own professionals - a cook, blacksmith and tradesmen who wanted to set up shop in the safe confines of the church, to provide services to adventurers.

This would be a net gain, as they both agreed to give a percentage of their gains and they would of course pay for food and rent like the rest, but he was running out of space. Expanding the church's exterior would be as expensive as the original construction, but there were dwarfs in the Dragon King's realm that could dig deep and safe, it was said. He was in contact with them though the Paladins, and he had commissioned a huge cavern, twice the length of the church - he could see where this was going, and he had the means to do this properly all at once, rather that waste time and money doing small installments.

* * *

A number of clans already requested permanent rooms for their members - at a price of course - and the number of visitors kept increasing. The were getting hundreds of people a day, whereas when they started they would get that amount per month. It seemed that The Wastelands, the parts of the Dungeon beyond civilization, were now considered by some to begin after level 90, rather than 10 levels earlier. That was...a major cultural change. And all for what, 15 permanent residents of the church? Did they really believe that with that, they had pushed back the boundaries of civilization? A foolish prospect. He knew how many arrived at the church, and how many set out - many of the burial ceremonies he had conducted himself, which had also strengthened the influence of the Church.

That, and the constant prayers. Every adventurer ego reached the church and said 'thank god' was contributing, in part, to the general good of the Church. Although the wards drew power from the god, there were more enough people coming that they were breaking even on the power output, even giving back at times, which was a far cry from their initial condition. He had also instructed the Paladins - him, a quest-giver, hah - to mark the paths and erect signposts where needed, and that the sign if the Church be visible enough that everyone would know who to thank. The easier it would be to get to, the more the church could influence, after all.

* * *

A second layer of cavers was dug out. Then a third. Meet of the world's strongest found their way to his church, and so many cane each day that he could no longer get every one of them as he used to in the past. Many of them had even joined the Church - mostly for the benefits, but then again, hasn't he started out the same way?

His job became that of administration. It was said he was more one of the most influential bishops of the church. But it was no fun, anymore. The whole place was commercialised, and was more akin to a mall than the lone building in the middle of nowhere it had started out as.

In short, he was no longer needed here.

But the church here became a waypoint, allowing more and more to travel to the deeper levels, where they would no doubt need food, shelter and healing...

* * *

... This is second time I have attempted to stuff this character into the Librarian of Dragons pigeonhole and he has escaped.

Not sure what I think about that.


	11. The Artificer

As always, spelling corrections and suggestions are welcome, especially those related to suspension of disbelief. My primary goal is to explore the real-world consequences and complications that were to arise from such a setup. If you feel that characters have taken choices that are not the best choice they could have made, that's fine. If you feel they have taken a choice that they would have not gotten to had they been rational, thinking beings – that's an error on my part, and rectified it must be.

* * *

"That'll be 30 gold pieces, then."

The grim man's face grew grimmer. "30 pieces for a dagger? Didn't realize you were in the extortion business."

"A bit high for a regular dagger, perhaps." Bit of an understatement there. "But for a Masterwork Dwarven Dagger of Seeking? I'd say it's well worth it." Especially this deep, where the chances of you finding any equipment not off monsters or deceased adventurers was slim. Why, even this stand wouldn't be this low down if not for the protection of the bigshot priest guy.

"Hrmph." The adventurer's face looked even less gruntled than when he'd entered, but he still payed the required amount and retrieved the dagger from the training dummy he'd thrown in at. It had hit it dead in the heart, which was quite impressive seeing as it had been thrown in _the complete opposite direction_ , but it wasn't called a "Masterwork Dagger of Seeking" for nothing.

The artificer grinned. 30 gold pieces was...not enough to live like a king for a month, but it would suffice to cover the expenses of, say, a minor earl. The net gain from the sale came out at around 20 gp, cut both ways made it 10 for him, which was still not slight amount.

Not that he had any such plans, though - both he and his business partner, who was currently working the forge, agreed that all gains would be reinvested in their current venture.

They had a dream - to create a weapons factory in the lower levels of the dungeon, where the source materials were abundant both as drops and in the environment and the demand was present. Each Dragon's Tooth to a sword, each Frost Giant's Heart to a Blizzard Staff, each Hellhound's Hide to a Hellfire Armor piece. There were so many options, so much to do, and yet none of it was currently feasible.

The source of the problem was the reason that the Dungeon was so technologically...different. Transportation.

Specifically, that all movement between levels was done via portals. Large-scale transportation of goods was severely limited by the size of the portals. If not for the series of relay portals leading to the entrance portal, and a second set of relays leading out of the portal inside the dungeon, the transportation between the dungeon and the outside world would be limited by scope, not just size. Communication of all sorts was blocked between the Dungeon and the world.

Effectively, each level of the dungeon was a separate dimension, which meant that the mass transportation that normally fed production was unavailable. They didn't need to start from scratch - transporting industrial-grade tools over already shaved off years in the production cycle - but it did mean that if anything was to be done en-masse, the materials and the processes had to be done within. And not just within the dungeon, but within every level.

The limiting factor was that even with industrial tools, there was no way to power them. The portal-connection between the levels meant that you couldn't just "extend a cable", and regular generators required fuel, which also need transportation from outside the dungeon. No similar fuel reserves had yet been found in any level, although there were rumors of attempts to use fire elementals to power steam turbines, ending in catastrophic failure.

Practically speaking, in order to start manufacturing, they had to first overcome a separate, and perhaps larger, hurdle - the lack of electricity.

Enter the Construct - a cog-based machine-like enemy found on the 45th floor. Among its assorted drops, it has around a 30% chance to drop a Construct Core. Item description: "A mysterious box with a set of slowly rotating cogs. It may have been operating for hundreds of years." He still had the first core he had ever looted, years ago, and it was still spinning at the exact same pace it had been when it was was probably powered by the background magic that powered the whole dungeon, so it was unlikely to stop. And angular movement could be converted to electricity, and electricity could be converted to _anything_.

Each Core by itself was not very powerful, but they were also quite compact. The simplest way to creating a generator lay not in taking a bunch of them and creating a generator - that would never scale. No, it lay in creating a process to convert a Core to a small power source. After that, combine enough of those and you have a generator - combine enough generators and you have a power plant - and after that... well, that could wait. Once they could make portable generators with constant output, everyone would tell them what to do with it, and by selling a few they could earn enough to streamline the process, sell _quite a lot more_ (industrial tools cost industrial sums) and then, finally, put those plans into action.

But for now, they were prototyping and testing. Buying weapons dropped by mobs from adventurers, improving the weapons - or melting them down if their craftsmanship wasn't worth the metal they were made of - and enchanting them. But with every dagger sold, and with every sleepless night of design and material engineering, they were one step closer.

Gone, it was gone! They'd told this kindly adventurer of their plans, their hopes and dreams, and he'd asked them to see their prototype. They'd shown him the light bulb that it had been powering for the last month or so, and then - darkness, and when they awoke it was nowhere to be found.

They'd known it was a risk they ran, dealing with adventurers so many dozen levels above them that they were - battle-wise - worlds apart, but they had always assumed that it would be weapons that would be stolen, which could always be remade. But their work being stolen... it could ruin them.

A quick desperate search revealed that their research notes were still in place - the fool, he had taken the result without the process! He breathed a sigh of relief. All was not lost - they had all they needed to make another prototype, with improvements since the last one. And what was really important was not making one power source, but making dozens - and that, no adventurer could take...yet.

But it did reveal a fatal flaw. They had been too optimistic, too naive - this deep down, the strong ruled. No exceptions were made for service providers - the strong took what they could. They were lucky to escape with their lives, and that, too, was probably due to the wards that would detect their death and summon the wrath of the entire church upon their aggressor.

They would have to become strong themselves, if they were to keep what was theirs. The Dungeon cared little for skill advances, as they did very little to increase their XP. It would settle only for combat, it would seem.

They would also need plenty of Construct Cores if they were to achieve their goal... the two seemed to coincide. But hunting such Constructs was, for now, beyond their reach, and he didn't feel like endangering himself anytime soon.

They would have to start lower, and work their way up. But still, many were the adventurers who did not survive, and he couldn't die yet, not when there was so much progress left to attain. Luckily, he happened to know a guy with a ridiculously large selection of self-aiming throwing weapons - prohibitively expensive, of course, and so certainly not how a regular adventurer would fight. But stabbed enough times, even the toughest enemies would fall, and it was simply safer to stab them from far away.

With heavy hearts, they packed their belongings, gave their thanks to the Bishop, and left surfacewards.


End file.
